


if the fates allow

by skeletalparade (boythighs)



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Shopping, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Tales from the Borderlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boythighs/pseuds/skeletalparade
Summary: The card keeps tapping at Rhys’ guidance as he leans back in the chair and heaves a sigh, head falling back against the headrest, eyes staring at the empty browser tab in front of him. The Google logo has never seemed so taunting and harsh against its white background before, teasing him with its endless possibilities because it knows that Rhys has no goddamned clue where to start.What do you evengetthe man with everything for Christmas?





	if the fates allow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoktorGunn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DoktorGunn).



> this is my submission for the bdlands gift-exchange, 2017! it's actually my first time writing for the fandom, so thanks so much to you guys for giving me a reason to indulge! 
> 
> my giftee was [this cutie](https://dokt0rgunn.tumblr.com/)! i really, really hope you like it, darlin'! merry christmas, happy holidays, all that good stuff!! 
> 
> and merry christmas to all of you guys, too! i hope the holidays have been treating you well. see ya in 2018, sweethearts.

Every tap of the card atop the lacquered wood echoes loudly against the booming silence of the office - of Jack’s home office.  _ Their  _ home office, Rhys corrects. The thought still comes with freshness and a fluttery stomach, only two years in the making, and even though Jack had handed him the key over dinner last week like it hadn’t mattered, a flippant look on his face, Rhys is capable of reading between those mismatched lines now and knows something big when he sees it. Living together? Huge. Especially for Jack. 

Jack is a man with everything, and now he’s got a live-in boyfriend.

The problem is just that, actually - not the live-in boyfriend thing, Rhys loves that, but the _ man with everything  _ thing is posing as a huge issue right about now. The card keeps tapping at Rhys’ guidance as he leans back in the chair and heaves a sigh, head falling back against the headrest, eyes staring at the empty browser tab in front of him. The Google logo has never seemed so taunting and harsh against its white background before, teasing him with its endless possibilities because it knows that Rhys has no goddamned clue where to  _ start. _

What do you even  _ get  _ the man with everything for Christmas?

Rhys kicks back from the desk a little and uses his bare foot to give the chair a twirl, hoping that the quick spin will give him an idea about what to get his boyfriend for Christmas, except - man, he’s really drawing blank, after blank, after blank here. When Jack wants something, he gets it for himself, because he can. Because he’s the CEO of a multi- _ trillion _ dollar corporation, and there’s nothing to stop him. He hasn’t even asked for anything for Christmas, and Rhys is pretty sure he’s never had to ask for anything ever, in his entire life, so it’s entirely possible he doesn’t know how, but it’s driving Rhys up the wall. 

Last year, Jack had taken them out of town to spend the holidays squirreled away in a secluded cabin, way up in the mountains. _ In another country. _ They hadn’t exchanged gifts. In fact, the only thing they’d really done was have lots of really fantastic sex, drink homemade hot chocolate, and marathon classic Christmas movies for a week. It had been nice, and Rhys knows there’s no way he’s ever going to be able to top that.

And it isn’t about besting Jack, it really isn’t, but Rhys wants to get him something nice. Something special. 

He shuffles back up to the desk with a dejected feeling in his stomach, scooping up the heavy, matte black credit card in his name (but connected to their joint account, also shiny and new), and slumped forward over the desk. Rhys groans and falls forward, head meeting the wood with an uncomfortable little thump. It shouldn’t be this hard, not when he knows Jack Lawrence better than anyone on the entire planet. 

Rhys is so caught up in his abysmally lost objective that he doesn’t even notice the telltale signs and sounds of Jack getting home. He’s caught off guard when Jack comes in through the door to the office, drawn in, most likely, by the light that sluices out under the door and paints the carpet just outside with a dull blue glow. 

“What’re you still doing up?” Jack asks him as he props himself up against the doorframe, one hand still on the knob. He appraises Rhys with a raised eyebrow, hip cocked, and Rhys lifts his head only to prop his chin on the desk and pout at his boyfriend. Jack chuckles and abandons the doorway, walking into the room and rounding the desk to settle in behind Rhys. Over his shoulder, Jack eyes the blank screen in confusion. “You’re literally just sitting here staring at a blank screen How’s that goin’ for ya, Rhysie baby?”

“Shut up.” Rhys’ voice is a grumble of a thing, and when he sits up Jack’s hands fall to his shoulders, thumbs rolling and digging into the taut muscles.

“What’s got you all tense, baby?”

There’s some hesitation in Rhys as he tips his head back to glance up at Jack, sighing under the pleasant pressure, and also because he has no clue what to do at this point  _ but  _ come clean and tell Jack he’s been struggling to come up with an idea for a Christmas gift.

“It’s really, really hard to shop for you.” Rhys admits after a moment, eyes closed as Jack’s hands falter, then get right back to it. 

“What are you shopping for me for?” Jack asks, the pitch of his voice slightly amused. If Rhys opened his eyes, he knows that he’d see the smug, yet slightly perplexed and fond look on Jack’s face. But to be completely honest, his eyes are sore from staring at screen all day, and he really needs to put some drops in his artificial eye. It’s incredibly dry, and Rhys imagines the sound of his optometrist’s voice chastising him for not keeping it properly cleaned and moistened. 

“Christmas. Duh.” Jack laughs a little at his response, and before Rhys can even let out an undignified squawk, his chair has been spun around, and he’s looking up at Jack. His back is haloed by the bright city lights, hundreds of feet below them. High above the roofs of the tallest buildings, the stars are backed by the inky night, and the moon is completely full, a seabed of sparkling, twinkling night. Jack looks beautiful like that, shadowed and swathed in starlight, but he always looks beautiful. 

“I can’t think of anything you’d even want, Jack.” Rhys is pouting again, and Jack braces his hands on the back of the chair to hold himself up as he dips down to nose at Rhys’ hairline. He’s still smiling, another laugh on his breath. He smells - like he’s been working all day, like the office, but underneath the exhaustion is the familiar scent of Jack’s cologne, his deodorant, his shampoo, the specialized soaps he has to use to keep the scar on his face clean and moisturized. 

“That’s because I don’t need anything, you doofus.” He trails featherlight kisses down Rhys’ face, every touch tickling, and Rhys breaks his pout to laugh and playfully shove Jack’s face back. Undeterred, Jack keeps on kissing until their lips are just a hair’s breadth apart. Mint, masking the smell of coffee, fills Rhys’ nose as he goes cross eyed trying to maintain eye contact with Jack. He finds himself smiling, heart beating just a little faster, as always. Some things never, ever change. Jack making Rhys nervous like it’s the first time they’re meeting, a CEO meeting the competition face to face? That’s always going to be a constant. 

“Everything I need,” Jack whispers, cocksure, just as usual, right into Rhys’ scant open mouth, “Is sitting in a really fancy, really sleek, really comfortable office chair in our shared penthouse.”

Rhys’ cheeks flush with heat. He brings a hand up to run his fingers along Jack’s jaw just in time for Jack to close the tiny distance between them, meeting Rhys’ lips in a gentle kiss that tastes of excitement and adoration and love.

And this is truly what Christmas is always going to be about, huh? The two of them together, nothing else in the world that matters. It all comes right back to this, Jack bracing himself with a knee in between both of Rhys’ legs, the chair shifting back until it bumps up against the desk and rattles its drawers. When Jack pulls away, Rhys is breathless and half hard in his pants, two fistfuls of Jack’s overcoat. 

“Stop stressing over stupid stuff, Rhysie.” Jack says, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair as he stands upright. His back pops, every knob on his spine, because he may be the most powerful CEO in the world, but even he isn’t immune to signs of age. It’s okay, though. Rhys thinks the salt and pepper hair looks pretty sexy on him. 

“Now come on, kiddo. Up, up. Dick’s not gonna suck itself.”

Rhys chokes out a wheezing laugh as he gets to his feet to follow Jack out of the room, leaving the computer on. Maybe all those people out there are right, and maybe gifts really don’t matter.

Because Rhys has everything he needs, too, and right now that thing he needs is slipping off his pants, struggling as his foot gets caught in the leg, and cursing quietly under his breath as Rhys breezes past him and into the bedroom.

Money can’t buy happiness, but that’s perfectly alright, if you ask Rhys. He and Jack have all the happiness in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/echoeyed). c:


End file.
